Bring It On, You Asshole
by Cyril de Ciel
Summary: Losing a bet to Malfoy, Harry is to take on the job of Bruce Wayne's personal secretary and bodyguard in Gotham City for a year. Thing is, none of the man's secretaries have ever stayed on for more than 1 week—if they were lucky. M/M
1. Chapter 1

**Bring It On, You Asshole**

**By Cyril de Ciel**

**Summary: **Losing a bet to Malfoy (who is closing a multi-billionaire deal with Wayne Enterprise and who owes Lucius Fox a favour), Harry is to take on the job of Bruce Wayne's personal secretary and bodyguard in Gotham City for a year. Thing is, none of the man's secretaries have ever stayed on for more than 1 week—if they were lucky.

**Warnings: **There will be boy-on-boy action so if that bothers you, you may graciously make your exit. Any flames will be ignored on this subject. Heavy Ginny-bashing will also be found in this story and if that makes you all sad and angry, well, I don't really understand why it would but you can leave whenever you wish.

**Pairings: **Harry/Bruce; one-sided Rachel/Bruce; one-sided Harvey/Harry; Ron/Hermione

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Batman or Harry Potter. If I did, well, I would be one bloody ecstatic, not to mention, "_royal-wealthy_"individual.

**A/N:** Epilogue? What epilogue? No such thing exists, you silly people! Everything in Harry Potter happened up until the epilogue-that-does-not-exist, ok? Alright then, let's get the story rolling! Enjoy!

**xXxXxXx**

**Chapter 1**

_5 years after the Final Battle. Harry is 22-years-old._

Harry swished his wand again and the last shirt flew out from his wardrobe to fold themselves into his open suitcases.

"Uh, mate, you're really going through with this?"

With another flick of his wand, Harry locked the suitcases and floated the luggage out of his room and into the living room by the fireplace where they arranged themselves into a neat pile. "A bet is a bet, Ron," he answered the redhead, slipping his wand into its holster wrapped around his forearm. He sat on the edge of his bed and bent to tie the laces on his boots. "I'm not going to give Malfoy the satisfaction of backing down."

"But it's Malfoy!" Ron retorted his usual words when concerning the blond aristocrat. Even though Harry and Hermione had set aside their differences after the war and were on friendly terms with Draco, Ron still held onto his disdain of the blond with a stubborn frown. "Why do you have to do what he says? I bet he cheated and drank a Sobering potion before you guys started competing," he added in a scowling mutter.

"I lost fair and square," Harry replied with a wry grin. _If someone had told me that I would say something like this about Malfoy a few years ago, I would check them into Mungo's without preamble, _he thought. Then, aloud he continued, "Since I lost the drinking battle, I have to carry through with the consequences."

Ron watched from his position leaning against the doorframe as his best friend stood and cast a final glance around the almost empty room. "Blimey, mate," he said, following the raven-haired young man down the hallway of the flat Harry had purchased once they had graduated from Hogwarts. "You sounded like Hermione there."

"Speaking of Mione, how is the pregnancy coming along?"

Ron scratched at his freckled nose with a scowl, his wedding ring flashing in the sunlight peeking in through the windows. "She's been having the creepiest mood swings," he complained with a shiver of fear. "One minute she's screaming about how I must hate her because I didn't coat her ice cream with ketchup and mustard, and then she's cooing about how I'm such a caring husband. It's enough to drive a bloke nutters!"

Harry snickered. "At least she's not throwing up every morning in bed anymore," he chuckled, referring to when Hermione still had the morning sickness and her inability to rush to the bathroom in time before she emptied her stomach.

The redhead grimaced and scrunched his nose in remembrance. "That was just nasty, mate," he whined, looking a little green around the edges. "Why did you have to bring it up again? Ugh…"

Just as they entered the living room, the fire flared emerald and then Draco was stepping out of the fireplace, brushing ashes from his shoulder. His grey eyes glanced at the baggage piled tidily to his left side and he arched a fine eyebrow.

"Is that all you are bringing, Potter?" he asked, a tinge of incredulity in his voice.

Harry looked at him in confusion as he closed the curtains. He was not coming back for a while and did not fancy his nosy neighbours peeking into his home while he was gone. "I just packed a few shirts, trousers, and a jacket or two," he replied. "So?"

"That's it? What about your robes?"

"What do I need robes for in the Muggle world?" Harry reminded him.

"You're telling me that you're going to wear your dismal rags to work at Wayne Enterprise, one of the most prestigious businesses in the world?" Draco gasped in shock. "You can't give me a bad reputation here Potter! Surely you're jesting with me!"

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Malfoy; I packed several suits in there somewhere." Harry tugged at a lock of his hair, and then what the blond had just said finally registered. "Hey! What do mean my 'dismal rags'? What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Don't get me started on your atrocious fashion sense, Potter," Draco sniffed disdainfully. He eyed Harry's current attire. The raven-haired was wearing an emerald silk shirt with a few buttons unbuttoned at the top that revealed a bit of the smooth tan skin underneath. His legs were encased in crisply pressed black trousers tucked into handsome boots. "Granger picked out your outfit," he commented without a hint of doubt in his tone. "You would have never been able to put together a presentable apparel like that otherwise."

Harry flushed slightly at the statement. "Sod off, Malfoy," he grumbled.

Draco sneered back at him, but there was no malicious intent behind it. "Mature, Potter," he shot back tauntingly. He fished out a coin from his pockets and tossed it to him.

His Seeker reflexes kicking in, Harry swiftly snatched the coin out of the air with ease. "Portkey?"

"Yes," confirmed Draco. "It will activate in five more minutes."

Harry nodded. "Well, I guess this is it," he sighed. Turning around he clasped hands with Ron who had been silently watching from the couch, intent on completely ignoring the blond's presence—the same blond who was also pretending that the youngest Weasley did not exist. "I'll see you later, mate. I'll floo you and Hermione once I've settled, alright?"

"You sure you want to do this, Harry?" Ron pressed his friend again, almost desperately hoping that Harry would finally come to his senses and back out of this ridiculous venture.

"I gave Malfoy my word," Harry answered patiently again as he moved to stand beside his bags, "and I don't go back on my word, you know that Ron."

The redhead seemed to deflate as he slumped back into the couch. "Yeah, I know," he said gloomily.

"Cheer up, mate," Harry tried to reassure him. "It's only for a year or so. I'll be back before you know it."

"Yeah, alright." The youngest Weasley did not seem reassured at all, still looking glumly down at the carpet.

"Well, if the touching parting is over and done with, your Portkey is about to activate," Draco drawled. He raised a hand in farewell as the coin began to glow in Harry's hand. "See you, Potter. I'll drop by an hour after you and introduce you to your new employer then."

Harry nodded. "Alright, Malfoy, see you then. Later, Ron! Don't forget to close the wards after you leave!"

"Will do, Harry. You take care, you hear?"

"Got it."

A sudden tug at Harry's navel yanked him out of his flat as his surroundings disappeared in swirls and dizzying colours. When his stumbling feet finally touched ground again and he had regained his equilibrium, Harry blinked as a House Elf with the crest of Malfoy on its uniform bowed in welcoming.

"Welcome to Gotham City, Harry Potter sir."

**xXxXxXx**

**Additional A/N:** So how is it? Does it warrant continuation? Tell me what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Bring It On, You Asshole**

**By Cyril de Ciel**

**Warning:** A bit of foul language.

**A/N: **Thank you for the encouraging reviews of the first chapter! I don't have a beta so if you find any mistakes, let me know so that I can fix them. Those little buggers sometimes slip their way by me…Alright then, here's on to chapter two. Enjoy!

**xXxXxXx**

**Chapter 2**

"Tell me, Malfoy, why did you suddenly decide to do business here?" asked Harry. He turned from looking out the window to glance at the blond sitting across from him as the limo sped past the tall dark buildings of Gotham City. "I thought you hated Muggles, and besides, isn't the States a bit too far to conduct business?"

"You really do not have a single financial bone in that scrawny body of yours, do you Potter? I can't believe you are as wealthy as you are."

"Bill helps me invest and manages my vaults," Harry shrugged. "You didn't answer me."

Draco sighed, his fingers tapping lightly on the head of his cane. "Money is money. It matters not if it's Muggle. Business is just that—good business. And the Wayne Enterprise offers an abundant amount of it." He arched an eyebrow and smirked. "And honestly, Potter, the Malfoy business is global and far-reaching. There is not a country where we are not profiting from right now."

Harry frowned. "Then why drag me into this?"

"Short-term memory; why am I not surprised? You lost a bet, remember Potter?"

"You know what I mean, Malfoy."

Harry watched, bemused, as a light tint of colour dusted Draco's cheeks before the blond turned away and looked out the window.

"I owe Mr. Fox a small favour."

"For what?"

"Merlin, after all these years, you're still such a nosey bugger, aren't you?"

Harry fixed him a flat stare.

Draco huffed. "Oh alright, I owe him because I was able to fully close this deal only because of his help."

Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. For the blond to go to such lengths as to willingly be indebted someone else, then this deal was certainly worth this major sacrifice for an ex-Slytherin. "How much?"

"Eighty-four point five billion."

Choking on air at the amount that Draco had flippantly tossed out, Harry gasped and stared incredulously. "American dollars? Are you serious?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Yes."

The raven-haired man whistled lowly. "No wonder you were willing to owe somebody a favour."

"Indeed," Draco drawled. "A Malfoy knows when to reap the benefits."

"And so now Mr. uh—oh right, Mr. Fox is calling in his favour," stated Harry. "And this has something to do with me because…?"

"Mr. Fox has been having a hard time finding a secretary and bodyguard for his employer and so I offered my help in finding one for him."

"Was this before or after I lost the bet?"

"Before."

Harry frowned indignantly. "How'd you know that you would win? Did you cheat?"

"Honestly, Potter, don't insult me. I would not stoop to such a level when my victory was assured." Draco smirked. "I knew you would never be able to win against me during a drinking battle. _Everyone_ but you knows that you're a light weight after all."

"I am NOT a light weight!"

Draco smiled smugly. "My point made."

Harry scowled and tugged on a lock of his hair. "And? Why couldn't Mr. Fox find someone himself? Wouldn't a lot of people love the chance to be able to work personally for the president of Wayne Enterprise?"

"There _were_ hundreds who would die for such a chance," Draco corrected. "But none of them were able to stay on for more than a week. They all quit before the first week of employment was over."

"What? Why?" Harry looked confused as the limo pulled up in front of a majestic tall building made of countless large glass windows. Stepping out of the car after Draco, he accepted his briefcase from the chauffeur with a nod of thanks. "Well Malfoy?"

"Just remember that the bet was that you are to work here as Mr. Wayne's personal secretary and bodyguard for one whole year. You can't quit." Draco was avoiding his eyes as he strolled past the security guards who nodded respectfully as he walked by and into the large elevator.

Harry jogged lightly to keep up and slipped into the elevator just before its glass doors slid shut behind him. "Malfoy…" he said warningly.

The blond lifted his cane and pressed the highest button with a cursive letter 'W' in beautiful inlaid gold—it was for the presidential floor which was located at the top of the building. "Mr. Wayne is a bit of a…playboy, shall we say?" he finally replied as the elevator began its ascent.

"So? You're one too and I deal with you just fine."

Draco shot him a glare. "He's an _excessive_ player, Potter. I've heard that he's difficult to handle. In fact, in quoting Mr. Fox: 'he can be quite the prick'."

"You're exaggerating, Malfoy. I mean, who can be more of a prick than you?" Harry snickered just as the bell dinged inside the elevator, having reached the presidential suite.

Draco sneered, "The answer would be your new employer." Without another word to the sceptical looking raven, he swept out of the elevator and into a lavishly decorated foyer.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy! It's good to see you again!" An old man with dark skin and greying hair stood from behind a large mahogany desk littered with neat piles of paper and a new expensive-looking computer. He shook hands with the blond and glanced behind him to see Harry standing awkwardly in front of the elevator. "And this must be Mr. Potter, I presume?"

Draco nodded an affirmative. "Yes. Mr. Fox, I would like to formally introduce you to Harry James Potter. Potter, this is Lucius Fox, the personal advisor of Mr. Wayne, your new employer."

Lucius walked forward and clasped Harry's hand in both of his in a gentle but firm shake. "Mr. Potter, I'm delighted to meet your acquaintance. I'm truly glad that you accepted this job."

Harry smiled politely and nodded though he was beginning to feel worried about the true character of his employer at the sound of heavy relief in Lucius' voice. "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Fox."

The old man smiled brightly and motioned them to follow him. "Come, come. Mr. Wayne is in his office right now." He led the two young men through what Harry now identified as his soon-to-be secretary office and through a pair of glass doors into a comfortable antechamber. Walking ahead, Lucius knocked on the double set of heavy oak doors on the other side of the small room.

"Come in," called out a deep, baritone voice.

Harry ruthlessly smothered his shiver of appreciation at the sultry sound. For all he knew, Mr. Wayne could be some ugly, old man with a smooth voice. Oh but was he wrong.

As Harry walked into the adjoining chamber, his eyes widened at the size of the office. However, his attention was drawn almost immediately to the man sitting with a woman in his lap behind a majestic oak bureau.

Glancing over the woman who ignored them and continued kissing the man's neck, Harry's jaw threatened to drop as he looked at the dark brunet man, never having seen anything so handsome in his life. Then, disgust washed through him almost immediately as Harry saw the indecent position the other man was in with the skimpily dressed female.

He saw Draco slant a look at him from beside him, his eyes saying "I told you so".

Lucius cleared his throat. "Mr. Wayne, Mr. Malfoy is here with your new secretary who's starting work right now."

The president never bothered to open his eyes, his head still thrown back as the woman trailed red-painted nails down his partially unbuttoned shirt. "I don't need another fawning girl who can't do her job properly, Lucius. You can get rid of her now and save me the trouble."

Lucius was about to open his mouth to reply when Draco shook his head. The old man closed his mouth and frowned, puzzled. The blond merely tilted his head towards Harry. A look of realization dawned in Lucius' eyes and he allowed a small smile to hover over his lips. Maybe this new one would have what it takes to stand against Bruce.

Harry was rigid in rising anger and annoyance. His shoulders were stiff and his face was set in a hard expression, a dangerous glint flashing in his emerald eyes. Forget what he had thought earlier about how attractive his new employer was. He was like the officials at the Ministry back home: arrogant, stuck-up, and proud. He _hated_ men like him. Sure, Draco was like that at times but then, he was an exception (he could mentally see Malfoy smirking—but of course he was!). Harry's hand curled into a tight fist. But at least Draco and the officials were polite. If there was one thing that he could not stand above all else, it was how the brunet was acting. He was being down-right _rude_, and Harry _loathed_ rudeness.

Calmly seething, Harry stalked forward to the desk and without further ado, slammed his briefcase down on top of it with a deafening _**BANG**_!

The woman shrieked as she was shoved onto the floor as Bruce jolted out of his chair in shock at the sudden loud noise. "_The fuck—?_"

Planting his palms firmly down on the desk, Harry smiled tightly at the tall man now staring disbelievingly at him. "So glad you could finally join us, Mr. Wayne." The smile on his face faded almost immediately to be replaced by a dark glower. "I don't appreciate being treated with such blatant disrespect."

Bruce stood there, momentarily frozen. His eyes crawled over the luscious picture the young man made as the raven leaned over his desk menacingly. His hand itched to brush through the soft-looking black hair tied back in a low ponytail as his gaze trailed down the furrowed eyebrows, the high cheekbones, the porcelain smooth tan skin, the full lips now pursed in a tight line, and finally the most beautiful pair of emerald green eyes he had ever seen. The angry young man before him was simply the most gorgeous morsel he had laid eyes on. He wanted to stalk around his bureau and have a taste of this delicacy—he mentally shook his head and slapped himself out of his stupor. This was not the time to fantasize about his secret preference for men. Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

Hard emerald eyes pinned a dark glare on him. Harry ignored him and continued, "And I most certainly do _not_ appreciate being referred to as a 'fawning girl who can't do her job properly'."

_Of course not,_ Bruce thought. _What sane man would mistake a beauty like you for a girl?_ He mentally slapped himself again. This _really_ was not the time. His pride could be at stake here. "Who are you then?" he snapped again.

"My name is Harry James Potter, and I'm your new secretary and bodyguard." Harry crossed his arms and scowled at him. "Now I believe you owe me an apology."


	3. Chapter 3

**Bring It On, You Asshole**

**By Cyril de Ciel**

**A/N: **Wow! Thanks so much for all of the great reviews! They made me extremely happy! There were a few questions asked and here are my answers (I hope they're satisfactory!):

From **Draysmeria:**

**Q:** "But I do have a question, as we can see in Batman Begins, Bruce stays for a long time in Asia, and when he returns he isn't really interested in his company. So how is this in your story? Is Bruce already active as Batman? Did he have the ninja-training? And why is he working in his company?"

**A: **Oops, I forgot to mention that this story takes place after he returns from Asia. He is already active as Batman so he has undergone all the training done in the first Batman movie. In my view, however, I think that Bruce does take interest in his company; the way he deals with other businessmen is quite unprofessional (since he gives the impression of falling asleep during meetings), but he does pay astute attention to detail and is able to detect when a potential partner is dabbling in the "black market" (recall how Bruce told Lucius to rerun the numbers on the business of the Hong Kong man who fled back home with tons of cash because Bruce noticed that there was a dramatic increase in a short time). He's working in his company because he still wishes to carry on his parents' legacy of trying to establish a "good" Gotham City. He is doing so by being Batman, yes, but he needs a cover to present to the public during the day so that others will find it extremely difficult and basically impossible to relate the playboy billionaire to the vigilante Batman who roams the streets at night.

From **kirallie:**

**Q: **"How wealthy is Harry compared to Malfoy and Wayne?"

**A: **I would say he is about the same, just a little bit below them since he doesn't actively partake in doing business (but he is in possession of the Potter and Black vaults which are immense seeing as how they are very old Pureblood Families and he does invest in flourishing businesses like the one operated by the Weasely Twins).

From **Kat-Sakura:**

**Q: **"Does Harry own a business with the Potter and maybe Black... and if he does, wouldn't Bruce want a partnership with either one of his businesses?"

**A: **The answer to this is above. Also, Bruce would want to have a partnership with Harry, but as mentioned before, Harry doesn't actively partake in doing business. And well...let's say that Lucius has been trying for a long while to get a hold of the elusive president who owns the Black Knives Co. to make a deal.

And that's it! Thanks again for the awesome reviews! Well, I won't hold you anymore. On with the story!

Have fun !

**xXxXxXx**

**Chapter 3**

"Huh." Bruce crossed his arms across his chest. "You do know who you are addressing, don't you, petit?"

Harry's eyebrow twitched once at the insult. Scratch that. There was one _other_ thing he hated too besides rudeness. His height was a touchy topic. Alright, so he was not vertically challenged like Ron and he was not as tall as most men were at his age; but that did not mean he was petit. Petit was a feminine adjective and Merlin, he also _abhorred_ being reminded that he looked a little bit feminine with his lithe figure, big emerald eyes, and smooth unblemished skin.

"Well, midget?" Bruce smirked, his eyes locked on Harry's blank expression. Ah, it seemed as if he had poked a sensitive button—_oh but would he love to poke at another certain sensitive part of his_…He cut himself off again. Damn it! He usually had more control than this!

Draco kept his stoic mask on his face but internally, he winced. Potter hated having others comment on his height. The last time he made the mistake of poking fun at his stature, he got cursed with blue balls. Literally. The memory had him wincing again. No wonder the late Dark Lord had stood no chance against the Saviour.

"Oh, I know who you are," Harry said and continued with a sweet smile, "You are a conceited, rude arse with something vile and putrid stuck up said arse."

A loud snort came from Lucius who immediately donned an innocent look as Bruce shot his advisor a dark frown. "_This_ is what you could find, Lucius?" Bruce asked, rudely pointing his thumb in Harry's direction. "A mouthy British who looks like he had just left the comfort of his momma's apron?"

Seeing that Harry was sincerely about to lose total control on his temper—_Gryffindors!_ Draco thought with a mental roll of his eyes—, Draco intervened quickly. "I assure you, Mr. Wayne. Mr. Potter is a highly trained bodyguard and is one of the elite. He's extremely experienced and able. I'm confident that he will be an excellent secretary and bodyguard for you."

Bruce quirked a dark eyebrow and grabbed his jacket from the coat-hanger by the door. Shouldering on the tailor-made Gucci suit, he opened the door and tossed over his shoulder as he strolled out, "We shall see about that. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm late for a meeting. It was pleasant to see you again, Mr. Malfoy. Oh, and Lucius? Escort the lady out of the building, will you?"

Feeling an ominous aura flaring behind him, Draco slowly turned around with a foreboding heart. He was met with twin emerald eyes now a shade of dark jade with anger and deep vexation.

"_**Malfoy…**_" came the low dark rumble.

Draco gulped and began to back up slowly, realizing what a cornered deer facing a furious lion must have felt. "C-come now, Potter. You already signed the contract!"

Harry stalked forward with the precise steps of a predator honing in on a kill. "I can easily rip it into pieces and make it void. As for you, I think I should do the same, wouldn't you agree Malfoy?"

The blond raised his hands in a placating manner as he continued to back-pedal away from the raven. "Potter you can't!" He yelped and raised his arms to shield his face when he saw Harry raise his fist into the air. "You gave your word, remember?"

When the expected hit did not rain down on him, Draco cautiously opened his eyes and peeked through the gap of his arms in front of his face. Harry was still, his face looking like he was internally warring with himself. Finally, with a weary sigh, he stepped back and lowered his fist. "You're right. I did." He straightened, stalked over to the desk to pick up his briefcase, and then moved swiftly for the door. "But don't think you're off the hook, Malfoy. I'll pay you back tenfold for putting me in this situation."

Recovering quickly, Draco called out after his retreating back, "Where are you going, Potter?"

"To do my job."

**xXxXxXx**

After Harry was gone from sight, Lucius cleared his throat. "Well now, this should be an interesting year," he said, an amused smile on his face.

Draco snorted lightly. "That, Mr. Fox, is an understatement."

**xXxXxXx**

Bruce blinked in surprise when the limo door opened again behind him and a body slid into the seat across from his. "What are you doing?"

Harry arched a brow at the other man and placed his briefcase on the leather seat beside him. "Accompanying you."

"Did I ask you to? No I did not, now get out."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. Wayne," Harry said and leaned nonchalantly back into his seat.

Bruce's eyebrows twitched in annoyance. Inwardly, he was amused at the boldness of the younger man. "Pray tell, why not?" he drawled and crossed one leg over the other.

"I'm your secretary and bodyguard," came the simple response. "Where you go, I go."

"Really? Well, let's see if you'll keep to that by the end of this evening." Bruce pressed a button on the armrest to his left. "Driver, drop us off at the Tiger Rose."

The voice of the chauffeur sounded an affirmative over the speakers, "Right away, sir."

Within minutes, the limo pulled up in front of a high-class looking club where thumping music could already be heard from inside the bullet-proof vehicle.

A muscle jumped on Harry's cheek. "I thought you said that you had a meeting?"

"I do." Bruce smirked as he stepped out of the car, the door held open by his chauffeur. "I'm 'meeting' people here."

Clenching his teeth to bite back a scathing remark, Harry slipped out of the limo after his new and frustrating employer. Bruce walked by the long line of young people waiting to get into the bar right up to the front, ignoring the angry scowls directed at him. The bouncers took one glance at the tall president before they unhooked the red velvet rope and allowed him through the entrance without a word.

Harry was stepping up to follow behind Bruce when the two burly men barred his path. "Excuse me, but I'm with him," he said and nodded his head towards Bruce standing behind the bouncers.

One of them glanced over at Bruce. The tall man shrugged with a smooth roll of his shoulders. "I don't know him," Bruce said, his eyes innocent. "You can take him away, boys." With a smug smirk and a dismissive, mocking wave of his hand, Bruce turned around and strolled into the club with his left hand tucked into his pocket.

"No, he's jesting," Harry refuted with a tight smile. "I'm his new secretary and bodyguard."

The bouncer to his left snorted while the other snickered. "Yeah right, there's no way a pretty little thing like you can be a bodyguard for Mr. Wayne. If you want to get in, line up like everybody else."

Harry gritted his teeth. _No hexing the Muggles, Harry—you're not Malfoy,_ he reminded himself firmly, reining in his irritation. "Then how come he can get in without waiting?"

The burly men gave him strange looks before one of them answered, "Of course he can. Mr. Wayne owns this establishment. Now move along." They shooed him away from the entrance before turning back to check the queue.

Standing frozen in front of the building almost vibrating with loud thumping music, Harry was left staring at the entrance. He was suddenly jolted out of his thoughts by a man jostling into his side.

"Hey, watch it, man!" the stranger snapped as he walked further up as the line moved forward.

Harry said nothing and simply stepped aside to let the queue move by him. His emerald eyes narrowed and a harsh glint appeared in their depths. The more he thought about Bruce, the more he grew aggravated. Harry was not the type of man who slacked off. He did not like do his work with a half-arsed attitude. He took his jobs seriously—that was how he stayed alive during the war and after it when he joined the Auror program. His word was his honour and he had given it to Draco, promising that he would do his job as Bruce's secretary and bodyguard. He never went back on his word once he gave it—his pride would not allow it; and yet, his new employer was trying to prevent him from carrying out his word and make him look like a fool. Harry's face grew hard and determined. He had defeated Voldemort. He could bring down an arrogant businessman like Bruce too.

**:**_**Watch it indeed,**_**:** he hissed lowly under his breath, unknowingly slipping into Parseltongue in his flaring anger. **:**_**You asked for it, Bruce Wayne.:**_

He walked into the empty alleyway beside the brightly lit club and stepped back into the darkness, the shadows engulfing his form from view. His wand dropped from his holster into his waiting hand and with a flick of his wrist, he cast a Disillusion Charm on himself, feeling the sensation of an egg breaking over his head as the spell took hold. Sliding his wand back into place, Harry moved out of the alley and strolled past the oblivious bouncers without hindrance.

He crossed the luxurious lobby without a pause in his steps and slipped in through another set of doors and into…organized chaos. Harry blinked. Could chaos even be organized? It seemed that it was possible for Tiger Rose. From where he was standing, he had a good view of the heaving dance floor. Techno-dance music thrummed through the large speakers and people grinded against each other in the masses of bodies, faces flushed and hair sticking to their faces. Although there were people milling everywhere, his trained Auror eyes could see some sort of order in the way various groups were gathered, the slick movements of the waiters and waitresses as they navigated through the crowd, and the strategic positioning of tables, chairs, and booths. He easily located where his errant employer was; he was in a corner up on the balcony overlooking the dance floor, surrounded by women and catering waiters serving his every need.

A furious fire in his emerald orbs, Harry veered off towards the loo. He slid into the washroom behind a slightly drunk man and walked into the farthest stall. He waited until the person in the stall beside his flushed and left before he calmly closed the door and reversed the Disillusion Charm. Unlocking the door of his stall, he washed his hands in the sink, ignoring the befuddled looks a man by the urinals was casting in his direction. He patted his hands dry with paper towels and threw them into the bin as he walked back out of the washroom.

Weaving smoothly through the myriad of dancing individuals, Harry skilfully avoided the groping hands, refusing potential partners with a curt shake of his head. He headed for the red curtains he could see hanging beside the stage where the DJ was revving his music. Batting them aside and stepping through, his eyes swiftly took in the two hulky bouncers stationed with their hands folded in front of their chests at the foot of a staircase. They peered down at him as he came to a halt before them.

"Sorry, but it's off-limits from here," one of them rumbled deeply.

Harry merely tilted his head to one side. "I have authorization as Mr. Wayne's personal secretary and bodyguard. Let me through."

The two dark-skinned men glanced at each other before bursting into laughter. "I haven't heard that one before," the one to his left said. "Think up of a better lie next time, kid. A fragile thing like you as Boss' bodyguard simply doesn't cut it."

Harry fixed a steady look on them. "I'll say this one more time," he said quietly. "Let me through."

Maybe they could sense the intent aura of an ex-Auror surrounding Harry getting serious and dangerous because their laughter died down and the bouncers quickly sobered. They widened their stances and firmly blocked his path as they towered over him, the muscles in their arms flexing.

"We don't think so, kid."

"Very well." Harry took a step forward and in the next moment, the bouncer to the right was doubled over in pain, Harry's right fist jammed tightly up into his stomach. He ducked under the powerful swipe the other bouncer aimed at him. He dropped into a crouch and swept his legs out from underneath the big man before surging to his feet and slamming a knee into the falling bouncer's gut. Without glancing back at the groaning men lying curled on the floor, he went up the stairs leading to the balcony above the dance floor.

"Why hello there, sugar, and who might you be?"

Harry ignored the giggling women sitting on lavish okima sofas, sidestepping their reaching fingers, and stalked towards his target.

Bruce looked up from the gaggle of ladies gathered around him and hanging off of his body when a shadow fell over him. He let out a small grunt of surprise as a hand fisted into his collar and roughly yanked him to his feet. As his body automatically moved into knocking out his attacker, his movements faltered and he froze in shock when his dark eyes met brilliant emerald.

Jerking Bruce's head down by the hold he had on his collar, Harry growled into his face, "You're coming with me." Not taking his eyes off of Bruce, he addressed the rest of the occupants on the balcony. "As for you girls, do enjoy the rest of the night without the company of Mr. Wayne here. Have a good evening." With that, Bruce was pulled with a surprising strong strength from such a slender young man off of the balcony and into an empty office that Harry had identified earlier as Bruce's.

Slamming the door behind them, Harry released his tight grip on the taller man and faced him with a hard glare. "Just _what_ do you think you're playing at here?" he snapped. He jabbed a finger painfully into Bruce's chest with each of his words. "I am your bodyguard and as such I must remain at your side at all times. I take my job seriously and yet, you seem to not care a whit about your safety!"

"You are _not_ my bodyguard!"

"I am _both _your secretary and bodyguard until 6:30 and that's about half an hour away!"

"You don't even start work until tomorrow!"

"No, I started the moment I walked into your office but you were too disgustingly distracted to listen to Mr. Fox when he told you so!"

Getting annoyed at the violent jabs, Bruce suddenly lunged and slammed Harry against the wall, his large hands pinning the smaller man's wrists above his head. "How can you protect me if you can't even protect yourself?"

"How did you think I got into the club so quickly, and then past the security at the entrance leading up here?" Harry shot back, glaring up at him. He focused on his anger, trying to suppress his body's desire to melt into the heat radiating off of Bruce,—_Merlin, how he just wanted to mould himself against Bruce's hard planes_—the attractive man's enticing masculine scent almost causing his knees to buckle. "Despite your petulant orders to keep me out, your bouncers were nothing against me."

Brian blinked, resisting the urge to bury his nose into Harry's sweet-smelling obsidian hair. "You expect me to believe that you took down highly-trained men by yourself?"

"'Highly-trained'?" Harry scoffed. "If those men are what you call 'highly-trained', then I'm surprised that you're still alive. Now unhand me."

Bruce leered, tightening his hold on Harry's wrists. "Or what? You're stuck."

"No, I'm not," Harry grinned maliciously with a vindictive kick of his right leg against Bruce's shin.

"Fuck!"

"Don't tell me the all-powerful Mr. Wayne cannot handle a little pain?" he smirked, watching as the other man yelped and stumbled back, releasing his hold on his wrists. He lowered his arms and stepped away from the wall.

"As a bodyguard, you can't harm your employer," Bruce snapped, limping on one leg.

"So now you're saying that I _am_ your bodyguard?"

"No, you're fired!"

"You can't do that." Harry's smug smirk deepened. _This is what you get for messing with me: painful retaliation. If you think you can push me around, think again._

"There's nothing I cannot do," Bruce stated firmly. "And as your employer, I'm telling you that you're fired."

"The contract is valid for one year, starting from today," Harry said, sounding amused. "A part of it stipulates that you cannot fire me until the one-year is up, or unless I decide to quit before then."

"Damn that sly old man," Bruce muttered darkly under his breath, referring to Lucius who had slipped him the contract and had him sign it while he was drunk and half-asleep. He glared at the smaller man, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his left leg. Damn if the younger man could land a kick. "I knew I shouldn't have signed that thing."

"Well you did." Harry arched an eyebrow. "Your hands are completely tied in this matter. You can't fire me." A cunning smirk danced on his lips. "It seems like there _is_ something the almighty Mr. Wayne cannot do after all."

Bruce ignored the fact that the emerald-eyed man looked positively devious with that particular expression and glowered, straightening to his full height.

Harry was not intimidated at all.

"You honestly think that you have what it takes to be my personal secretary and bodyguard?" Bruce laughed, his tone mocking as he began to circle around him. "A petit little thing like you is more likely to be blown over by a breeze than to be able to protect me from guns and assassins twice your size."

"It must be nice to have selective memory since it seems as if you have forgotten about your bouncers and that kick I just delivered." Harry crossed his arms across his chest. "Your insults will get you nowhere. I'm staying."

Sneering, Bruce halted his stalking around Harry and folded his long arms across his broad chest. "I'll have you quit in three days, midget."

Harry barely held back the snarl at the nickname. His back stiffened and his jaw clenched. "Not going to happen," he shot back flatly.

The taller man's lips curled into a dark, ominous smirk. "Then it's war," he purred. "Let's hope you're still sane in one week, shorty."

Harry's control snapped. "Bring it on, you asshole."

**xXxXxXx**

**Additional A/N: **Ahhh…I just love the fire raging between Harry and Bruce. It's quite fun to write/read about the way they interact with each other, wouldn't you agree?


	4. Chapter 4

**Bring It On, You Asshole**

**By Cyril de Ciel**

**Warning:** Foul language and attempted rape scene—not Harry, don't worry.

**xXxXxXx**

**Chapter 4**

Harry wearily closed the door to his apartment, exhaling a tired sigh as he leaned back against the cool metal surface. After the explosive "chat" he and Bruce had hammered out between themselves in the taller man's office at the club, Harry had grudging agreed to be dropped off at his new place.

The silence between them during the limo ride was almost suffocating. Harry had studiously avoided looking at Bruce, well aware that if he chanced a glance at the brunet with the memory of Bruce's body pressing flush against his while the taller man pinned him against the wall earlier in the club still fresh on his mind, he would most likely drool and stare—_and probably get down on his knees and submit willingly to those burning penetrating eyes too_. Unbeknownst to the raven, Bruce himself had had a difficult time repressing the urge to grab the beautiful young man sitting quietly across from him and sealing his lips over Harry's, ravishing him until he was too dazed to remember his own name.

Both men had been internally relieved—and yet feeling strangely bereft as well—when the limo finally pulled up in front of Harry's new apartment building.

Harry could see his luggage neatly arranged to one side of the door from the corners of his eyes. They had already been moved here early this morning, and now that he thought back on it, he had thought that it had been a little strange for Draco to be so eager to have his things moved quickly into his new place. _That little bastard must have known that I would strangle his neck once I met Bruce,_ Harry thought darkly. _You wait, Malfoy, you'll get your due._

He sighed again and toed off his shoes before he stepped further into the apartment. Dropping his briefcase on the couch, he plopped down beside it as he looked around the loft. The furniture were new and expensive-looking, having been bought and moved by Draco's house elves—the blond would not take 'no' for an answer despite Harry's protests that he could buy his own furniture. The living room was spacious and no doors or walls separated it from the dining room, bedroom, and the kitchen. Across from the couches set in a square shape, a working desk was positioned near the large windows overlooking the city. There was a platinum thin television hanging from the wall on the other end of the living room. The kitchen was equipped with the latest modern devices and a pristine flat stove on top of black marble counters was located beside a large silver sink with an elegant glass faucet. From where he was sitting, he could see his queen-sized bed up on a podium with its covers neatly made; it was surrounded by rotating panels that could be slid shut automatically by the switch near the three steps leading up to the elevated bedroom. All in all, by the time he had fully taken in what his apartment comprised of, Harry was left staring at his new place with wide eyes and a hanging jaw, his gobsmacked face causing a giggle to escape from the house elf that had just popped in behind him.

"Mixy is seeing that Harry Potter sir likes it here!" squeaked the house elf.

Harry bolted up with a yelp of shock. "Merlin! You scared me!"

The creature's eyes welled up with tears and she began to tug viciously at her own ears in punishment. "Mixy bad! Mixy scared Master's friend! Mixy needs to be punished! Mixy bad!"

Harry hurried over to the wailing elf and gently but firmly said, "That's enough, Mixy! You just startled me, that's all. There's no need to punish yourself for my own inattentiveness!"

Wide teary eyes peered up at the wizard kneeling in front of the house elf, her sharp nails digging painfully into her soft-skinned ears. "Really? Mixy can stop?"

Harry nodded. "That's right. Mixy can stop." With an encouraging smile as the creature lowered her arms and sniffled messily, he asked gently, "Now is there a reason why you're here, Mixy?"

Mixy sniffed as she rummaged through the pockets of her uniform and extracted a neatly folded letter and a thick folder. "Master is be wanting Harry Potter sir to read this when Harry Potter sir is getting back."

He took the offered folded parchments from her hands with a smile. "Thank you , Mixy."

Mixy's eyes widened and she gasped, "Mixy is being thanked for doing what Master orders! Mixy is so happy!" With another wail, she disappeared with a soft pop.

Shaking his head in wry amusement, Harry looked at the parchment and folder in his hand. His eyes narrowed as he frowned. _That coward,_ he thought with a mental scoff. _Malfoy sending a house elf to deliver his message instead of telling me face-to-face…I bet he's scared out of his mind to meet me alone after what's happened. The little bugger…_ He laid the folder down on the coffee table and unfolded the letter, breaking the wax with the Malfoy crest sealing it shut.

The letter read:

Potter,

As you can see—I take full credit for getting your eyes permanently fixed with that potion I gave to you last Christmas—your apartment is fabulously furnished. Granger and I were in grudging agreement that the place that you chose is simply too revolting to even comprehend.

Honestly, Potter, what sane bloke would want to live in that cramped, low-class shack? But of course, that was a rhetorical question seeing as how it was you who chose it. You, Potter, not only possess an awful fashion sense, it also seems that your living standards are in dire need of a reconstruction itself.

Hence, we picked a much more suitable living quarters for you. You can thank me later with copious floods of gifts.

Now then, don't forget that you start at 7:00AM sharp tomorrow. Don't be late and, Merlin's beard Potter, do wear presentable and tasteful attire and try not to embarrass me seeing as how I am the one who recommended you for this job. (_Ha!_ _More like forced it on me, you prat!_ Harry scoffed mentally.)

The folder included has Mr. Wayne's schedule for the first couple of weeks—courtesy of Mr. Fox. Once you've settled down and gotten used to your position, you will be the one responsible for creating Mr. Wayne's schedule, making appointments, setting up meetings, etc. The folder also includes a list of people with personal descriptions you should familiarize yourself with. They are important clients who you will have to deal with as Mr. Wayne's new personal secretary and bodyguard—some are to be friendly with, others are to be denied any contact with Mr. Wayne.

One last thing, rumour has been going around the past few months that a vigilante who calls himself Batman roams the streets of Gotham City. He's described by those who have seen a fleeting glimpse of him as a "tall, well-built individual in a black Kevlar suit with a mask in the shape of a bat". However, it is not him that you need to be wary of. Gotham City is very much like Knockturn Alley. It is teaming with thugs and ruthless gangs. That's why I strongly advise you to stay indoors once night has fallen. Despite being an ex-Auror, I know that being the reckless and idiotic Gryffindor that you are, you attract trouble like bees are attracted to nectar. For Merlin's sake, I do not want to read about your demise during a gang fight in the morning paper. It would ruin my breakfast and breakfast is my favourite meal of the day.

And do try to tame that rat's nest you like to call hair before you clock in tomorrow, alright?

Malfoy

Lord of the Most Noble House of Malfoy

Reading the last sentence had Harry rolling his eyes. Did he really have to add in his family title in the end? He sighed in resignation, but could not help the small amused smile that appeared on his face. Malfoy will always be Malfoy: a pompous (but secretly loyal) prat.

Deciding to look through the folder later—_alright, so he was a little wary of its apparent thickness_—Harry placed the letter down on top of it and stood. He made his way to the immaculate kitchen and opened the fridge. Basically empty. There was nothing to eat inside the fridge besides a carton of eggs and a jug of milk. He closed the door with another sigh. Guess it was time for a quick shopping trip.

Glancing out the window, Harry noted that it was getting dark out but the sun had not fully descended below the horizon. He bit his lower lip indecisively for a moment as he considered Malfoy's warning about the dangerous streets before he knelt by his luggage. He was too hungry to wait until morning and he was not in the mood for take-out delivery. He wanted some homemade cooking. With a wave of his wand, he enlarged the bags. He rummaged through one of them and retrieved a pair of silver daggers. Strapping them to his forearms, Harry straightened and headed for the door. He would just make a quick trip to the grocery store a few blocks away and hurry back home.

**xXxXxXx**

Harry was on his way home with bags of grocery in his hands when he heard piercing screams rend through the evening air.

"_HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!_" The sound of a woman crying and screaming had Harry taking off at a run without hesitation. "_HELP US, PLEASE!_"

Harry skidded to a halt outside of a dark alley and without another thought, plunged in. The sight that he came upon had his blood instantly boiling in rage. Two small children were cowering behind their young mother who was clutching her bleeding arm. They were surrounded by four snickering men who were advancing upon them with sinister leers, smacking their makeshift weapons of crowbars and rusty pipes ominously against their palms.

"It seems like we're getting lucky tonight," one of them grinned. He licked his lips and shared a look with the others. "The mom looks nice and tight. It'll be a snug fit for us, don't you think boys?"

The other three men nodded and laughed cruelly. One breathed in deeply and rubbed at his crotch with a deep moan, "God, I'm already hard and aching. I can just get off the scent of their fear."

"Shall we start fuckin' then, boys?"

The one closest to the woman trying to shield her children with her body cackled perversely, ignoring her pleas, and reached out a groping hand. "It's time to play and fuck, bitch!" He suddenly yelped girlishly when a dagger sliced through the air, forcing him to yank his hand back as he stumbled away to land gracelessly on his bottom.

The four would-be rapers stared in shock at the silver dagger embedded in the dirt in front of the woman. "What the fuck?"

"Leave the woman and the children alone."

They whipped around and saw Harry standing at the entrance of the dark alley, grocery bags held in tight, white-knuckled fists.

"And who the fuck do you think you are?"

"A passerby who is not going to let you lay a finger on that woman and her kids."

The man in the centre sneered and smacked his crowbar threateningly against his palm. "The fuck you are," he snarled. His eyes trailed over Harry's figure and soon, lust filled their gaze. "Well well well, aren't _you_ a pretty boy. With that tight little ass, I'm sure we'll have a lot of fun with you too."

Harry dropped into a light crouch, his muscles coiled and ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. "Not on your life," he shot back coldly just as he glimpsed a black shadow leaping across the roof from across the street.

The four men charged with loud yells. Harry sprang into action. His two heavy bags slammed painfully head-on into the faces of two men, sending his grocery flying in all directions. _There goes my dinner_, he thought forlornly. He dropped into a smooth roll beneath a heavy swing of a metal pipe and then kicked out, slamming a man's knee out of its joint with a sickening wet snap causing him to scream in agony before the man cracked his head harshly against a brick wall.

Harry quickly dodged a swipe of a crowbar, his remaining silver dagger appearing in his hand as he brought it up above his head, blocking another downward swing. He flicked his wrist and easily slammed the crowbar out of another man's hands and knocked him out with a controlled blow to the back of his head with the hilt of his dagger. Just as he was blocking a kick to his chest from the third attacker, the quickly moving shadow he saw earlier dropped down from above them and flung the man he was fighting against head-first against a wall with a deep growl.

Harry saw the last standing man swinging his pipe at the back of the shadow and lunged, yanking his other blade out of the dirt as he moved. "Look out!" Harry slammed his back against the shadow's own armoured back and parried the blow with his daggers held above him in a silver cross. With a muttered curse as the attack sent tremors up his arms, Harry stumbled. Strong arms suddenly wrapped around his waist to steady him. Holding back a blush that threatened to colour his cheeks despite the current situation, Harry muttered a quick word of thanks before he regained his balance, the long arms falling away from his slim hips, and delivered a hard kick against the attacker's gut. As the man dropped his weapon with a wheeze, he knocked him unconscious with another callous strike of his leg in a high kick to the side of his head.

Breathing deeply and internally glad that his face no longer felt like it would explode in a blazing shade of red, Harry slowly lowered his right leg steadily to stand on both feet again. He sheathed his daggers smoothly back into their leather holsters and knelt slowly in front of the trembling woman and her whimpering children.

"Ma'am?" he said softly, keeping his distance in order to not frighten them further as he held out his empty palms in a soothing manner. "Are you alright?"

The woman shivered in fear and responded in a quivering voice, "W-We're f-fine." She slowly reached out shaking hands and took his offered hands.

Harry gently helped her to her feet as her children clung to her dirty and ripped skirt. "We should get that wound on your arm looked at. You and your kids should get to a hospital and make sure that everything is alright."

"Thank you," she whispered softly, her arms wrapping around her crying children in a protective embrace. She glanced over his shoulder and shrunk back just as Harry felt somebody coming to a stop behind him.

Harry turned swiftly and looked up to see a tall man in black armour that was moulded to his muscular figure like a second layer of skin, the broad shoulders and the powerful long legs had Harry swallowing his sudden spark of arousal. He barely kept himself from collapsing due to watery knees and making a fool of himself when a deep, velvety growl spoke, "The police have been notified and are on their way."

The mother nodded, clutching at her kids tightly. "Thank you," she said again but did not move.

Harry tilted his head slightly to one side, a curious expression on his face. "When I was informed that Batman existed, I admit that I was quite sceptical since I did not think that any sane man would voluntarily run around the city during the nights in a heavy suit." Harry flashed the masked man with a crooked smile. "I guess I owe you an apology."

"Try not to be out after dark again," the dark figure replied, seemingly ignoring Harry's comment except for the slight twitch of his lips. He nodded over to the four unconscious men lying propped up against a wall, bound tightly together with thick ropes. "They won't be waking up anytime soon. The police will take care of them when they get here."

Harry smiled. "Thanks."

Batman nodded once in reply.

Just then, the sound of sirens and flashing blue and red lights filled the air. As cops flooded into the alley, Harry calmly called out that they needed paramedics for a mother and her two small children and that there were four bound and unconscious thugs near the brick wall.

Accosted by two policemen and then, after inquiring if he was injured—which he denied—, they asked him to accompany them back to the police station for standard questioning. As he was led away, Harry glanced back into the alley only to find it empty: Batman was gone.

**xXxXxXx**

**A/N:** Whew! What a first night in Gotham City for Harry! The fight scene in the alley was sort of hard to write. Hope you enjoyed it though!


	5. Chapter 5

**Bring It On, You Asshole**

**By Cyril de Ciel**

**Warning:** Foul language.

**A/N: **Hey, guys! Sorry for the long update, but as I promised in my profile, I won't abandon any stories that I may post. Thank you very much for all of your encouraging and kind reviews. I apologize that I can't respond to each one personally because I'm overloaded with work, but rest assured that I have read each one. Again, thanks! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

**xXxXxXx**

**Chapter 5**

Throwing his suit jacket on the back of the couch, Bruce sighed as he sank into the plush cushions. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted back, the back of his neck supported by the couch, when the soft voice of his butler broke through his meditating thoughts, "Young master? Is something the matter?"

He peered upside down at Alfred who stood at the doorway with a tray of the afternoon tea in his hands. "Just relaxing."

Alfred quirked an eyebrow as he entered the living room and placed the silver tray on the coffee table beside the young man. "Come now, young master. You got a new secretary today, didn't you?"

"How did you know?"

The butler ignored his question. "I have not seen Mr. Potter in years. It's good to see him healthy after so long."

"How do you know his name?"

Again, Alfred ignored him. "He's a nice young man, isn't he?"

Bewildered by how his butler was steadfastly disregarding his questions, Bruce finally sat up on the couch. "How do you even know Harry? I didn't even know I was getting a new secretary today much less who it was going to be."

"Unlike you, young master, I read through your papers when I organized them for you," Alfred replied with an arch of his eyebrow. He poured the tea and added the usual dollop of sugar before handing it over to Bruce.

"I wasn't at my best when I signed those documents," the young man lounging on the couch muttered as he accepted the steaming cup of his favourite tea.

"You were inebriated," Alfred said wryly.

There was no response from his young master who was quick to disappear behind the teacup.

Chuckling, Alfred adjusted the folded napkin resting on his forearm as he straightened. "Do take it easy on young Mr. Potter. Now then, if you'll excuse me, young master, I need to prepare dinner."

Bruce reappeared from behind his cup at those words just as his butler was about to leave the room. "What? But you didn't answer my question about how you know Harry."

The old man paused at the door. "You address Mr. Potter by his first name already?"

Bruce refused to allow the blush to make its appearance on his cheeks and raised an eyebrow. "And why not? I'm his employer. I can call him by his first name if I want to."

Alfred's lips twitched. "I see." Then with a slight bow, he left the room.

"Him and his mind games," Bruce muttered to himself, taking a bite of a biscuit. Just as he swallowed, it dawned on him. "And he never answered my question!"

Grabbing another biscuit off the silver tray, he downed the rest of his cooling tea and strolled out of the living room, down a long hallway, and into his personal study. Without pausing in his steps, he moved over to the bookshelves and after playing several keys on the grand piano, a click was heard before the shelves swung quietly open to reveal a dark elevator that lit up the moment he stepped in.

The old elevator creaked as it slowly descended underground. Stepping out of the lift, he made his way immediately to the large circular desk lined with computer screens monitoring for any stress calls on radio/TV frequencies. Bruce slid into his seat and with a small push, rolled over to the desk while swiveling around to face forward. He picked up a silver earpiece and settled it into his ear, his other hand already occupied with typing out some program codes to log into the locked system. Once the password was accepted, he rose from his seat, the earpiece in his ear beginning to receive radio transmissions from the devices he had installed in the more dangerous parts of Gothum.

Within minutes, a black, heavily armored tumbler slammed out of the waterfall situated off the perimeters of the Wayne properties, and roared down the deserted dirt road.

**xXxXxXx**

Securing his latest subdued criminal against the telephone pole close to a police station, the sudden beeping in his ear alerted him and he stood quickly to his feet. The cries of a mother pierced through him and with a furious growl, Bruce vaulted over a wired fence and swiftly heaved himself up an emergency escape ladder and climbed to the top to the roof of a building. Without losing time, he broke into a sprint, leaping from roof to roof with silent feet and leaving behind nothing but a whisper of a breeze.

By the moment he reached the district where the distress calls were coming from, he could make out a lithe figure moving like a whirlwind and dropping a few of the charging men like flies in heartbeats. Recognizing the raven hair and the flashing emerald eyes immediately, fury like no other erupted from deep within Bruce's chest, a menacing growl rumbling forth from his throat without his conscious control as he saw the degenerate lash out with a kick aimed at Harry's chest.

Without another thought, he dropped down from the top of the building and before he even landed fully with a heavy crunch on the pavement below, he was on the move again. Lunging forward, his gloved hand wrapped around the attacker's throat in a vice-like grip, his fingers digging into the soft flesh like claws as he slammed the shocked man head-first into the wall on his left. _Fucking trash_, he thought vehemently while glaring darkly at the crumbled form.

"Look out!"

Detecting a sudden movement from behind him to the right, Bruce tensed—only to blink once in surprise when Harry slammed into his back. He felt the faint tremor that went through the smaller man's body when Harry blocked the blow meant for him, and moving on instinct, Bruce curved his arms around his waist to support him. For a moment, his mind went blank at the feeling of having Harry in his arms; and though his armor was thick, he imagined that he could feel the younger man's body heat searing through the material and burning into his skin.

The quiet words of gratitude snapped him out of his temporary still-state and Bruce's arms slipped off Harry's waist as his mind reared in horror at himself. He watched as his new secretary felled the remaining standing man with a well-placed kick. A muscle jumped in Bruce's cheek while he moved to secure the thugs for the police he had anonymously notified minutes before he dropped into the scene. That he would slip so out of control as to lose his mind in fantasy in the middle of a fight…Harry James Potter was dangerous.

**xXxXxXx**

_Beep-a-beep! Beep-a-beep! Beep-a-beep!_

Blearily opening his eyes at the irritating sound of the alarm attempting to blast holes through his brain, Harry groaned and flung his arm out. His groping fingers finally sought out the annoying device and shut it off. Muttering darkly under his breath, he brought his forearm up to rest against his eyes. He was still tired. After the episode last night, the questioning at the police station had taken longer than he thought it would. After getting the story from the mother, they almost basically drilled him on his identity, where and how he learned to fight—trying to determine if he would later present a threat to the general public (even though he had used said skills to save a woman and her children mere minutes earlier). Then, they tried to charge him on the account of carrying hidden weapons on his person. But when he showed them his legal documents stating his license of possessing said weapons, the officers scoffed and declared them faux. They didn't believe what he claimed to be: Harry Potter, Bruce Wayne's secretary and bodyguard.

_- Flashback -_

The brown-haired officer, with 'Wilton' engraved on his nameplate, scanned through the papers with his partner before he snorted and tossed them on the metal table. "These are obviously forged," he declared.

Harry reigned in his exasperation. "Look, those are authentic, legal documents. My name is Harry James Potter, and I have the right to carry the knives on me as stated in that license. I was a police officer in Britain"—_okay, so that wasn't entirely true, but he couldn't say that he was an 'Auror', so a policeman was close enough_—"I know how to handle those weapons properly."

"That doesn't mean that you can wield them here. This is not Britain."

"That license is valid universally. It's been verified with your government before I crossed borders since, as Mr. Wayne's official secretary and bodyguard, it is imperative for me to have the means to protect him."

Wilton leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms across his chest, a skeptic expression on his face. "You're still seriously standing by that excuse?" he asked incredulously. He made no attempt to hide his scanning of Harry from head to toe with his eyes—a look appearing in their depths that instantly set Harry off on an edge in disgust. "How can a slender young man like you have the ability to guard someone as prominent and important as Mr. Wayne? A small person like you…" he mocked.

Harry merely arched his eyebrow at the insult, somehow feeling that he was channeling a bit of Malfoy as he stared the other man down. Refusing to let his anger show, he said simply, "I want my phone call."

"Going to call for a lawyer now that you know you've been caught?" Wilton scoffed. "Typical."

He ignored him and nodded in thanks at the other officer who handed him a cellphone. Dialing the number quickly, Harry spoke, "Sir? This is Harry Potter. I defended a woman and her children against some degenerates who were threatening them, and now I'm at the main police station in the Clock Tower district. However, the officers here do not believe that my papers are authentic." He paused, listening to the other on the other end of the line before he nodded, "Yes, sir, understood."

Harry hung up and handed the cellphone back.

"What's this? The lawyer not going to take the job?" the brunet officer sneered.

"Wilton, that's enough," said his partner. "Stop being such an ass; he saved the mother and her kids."

"Shut up, Ian. That still doesn't change the fact that he was carrying weapons and in possession of illegal documents too," Wilton shot back. He leered at Harry, "Guess you're all mine to lock up in the cells with the other delinquents."

Emerald eyes locked on the mocking policeman in a hard stare. "He will be here in less than 10 minutes."

Wilton stood. "I don't give a damn. You're still going to the cells. Get up."

Harry did not move. "I have the right to wait."

"He's right," Ian spoke up when his partner looked like he was about to wrench Harry out of his chair anyways. "It's only 10 minutes, Wilton. Let's just wait for his lawyer, or the boss won't like it if he gets a complaint from Law Department."

Wilton scowled but sat back down, muttering under his breath, "Damn Gordon."

Harry mentally catalogued the muttered name for later perusal. The higher-ranked policeman sounded like someone who obeyed the law and demanded the same from his subordinates, and in a city like Gothum, it would be noteworthy to take that into account.

Nine minutes passed in silence in the interrogation room with Wilton starring unabashedly at Harry, who in turn, ignored him and reined in his urge to wipe off the lustful look on the officer's face. Ten seconds before it hit ten minutes, the brunet lost control over his patience and abruptly stood to his feet. "That's it! Time's up. Get up!"

"No."

Wilton stalked towards Harry and angrily grabbed his arm just as the tenth minute came into fruition. The door slammed open with a resounding _BANG!—_ and strolling in like he owned the place—"Do take your hand off my secretary. I hate signing papers reporting harassment."_—_was Bruce Wayne.

In his shock at seeing the Prince of Gotham in person and what his presence meant in connection to his captive, Wilton obediently withdrew his hand without conscious thought. "W-What—" He cleared his throat and tried again, a dark flush rising up his neck at his initial stammer. "Mr. Wayne, sir, what are you doing here?"

Every inch the cocky businessman that he was, Bruce ignored him. He turned to face his intended target and arched an eyebrow. "You just finished your first day of work several hours ago, and you're already in trouble?" he smirked, his eyes trained on the emerald-eyed young man glaring at him. "You're supposed to be my bodyguard, and yet, here I am rescuing _you_."

"I called Mr. Fox, Mr. Wayne," Harry said through gritted teeth, the smug look on Bruce's face getting to his nerves—_not that he would ever openly admit that the expression suited him, and that it looked much too sexy on his defined features; features that he could see his tongue tracing and_—He mentally hexed himself back into reality when his boss's voice entered his hearing again_._

"Ah yes, Lucius. He had an unexpected meeting that he had to oversee so he called to inform me of the situation."

"A meeting at this hour?" Harry asked incredulously.

"We have international clients," Bruce replied promptly with a quirked eyebrow again. "And time zones do exist, Mr. Potter."

Harry smiled, and if his lips seemed a little tight around the edges, he didn't care. "Of course. Now, can we get to the point why I called Mr. Fox in the first place?

The tall businessman slipped a hand inside his jacket and withdrew folded papers. He held them out, handing them to the closest officer which was Ian. "These are the photocopied versions of the contract that Mr. Potter holds with me. He is, indeed, my secretary and bodyguard."

Ian perused through the documents before looking back up at Bruce with a satisfied smile. "Yes, sir, everything seems to be in order. Mr. Potter is free to go."

At that, Wilton seemed to spring back into life from his previous frozen state when Bruce had completely ignored him and his questions. "Wait! He can't just leave like that! A photocopied version of the contract is not enough to clear him of being in possession of forged documents and of hidden weapons!"

"Do you hear yourself, man?" Ian shot his partner a disbelieving look. "The contract clearly states that Mr. Potter is who he claims to be, which verifies the fact that his documents are not 'forged' as you've been adamant to declare. He's free to go."

"But—!"

Hard blue eyes pinned Wilton into place, cutting him off with the harsh glare. "You do realize what time it is right now?" Bruce drawled. "It's 3 in the morning, and my lawyers are extremely bloodthirsty when they're woken up at this ungodly hour."

The dark glint in Bruce's eyes sent chills down the brown-haired officer's neck, and he broke out into a nervous sweat. However, when Harry moved to walk past him towards the businessman waiting for him at the open doorway, his arm went up to stop him.

Reflexively, Harry's right hand shot out and clamped onto Wilton's wrist. He shifted his weight back on his left leg as he pulled the officer's arm down and forcing him to stumble forward—right into Harry's raised right knee. It all happened so quickly that it left Wilton coughing and clutching at his aching stomach, his eyes staring uncomprehendingly at the concrete floor as his brain struggled to understand what had just occurred for him to be in his current position.

Harry glanced at the other officer who did nothing to help his gasping partner lying on the ground. Ian caught his eyes and he shrugged, a hint of an amused smile playing on the corners of his lips. "From what I saw, it was self-defense. You're free to go, and he was trying to obstruct your right to do so."

Harry nodded once in thanks and then, both he and Bruce walked out of the police station without another hindrance.

_- End of flashback -_

A frown creased Harry's forehead as he stared up at the ceiling from his bed. He recalled the lift back home that his boss gave him in his sleek new Koenigsegg CCX. He could practically feel the smugness oozing from Bruce as they drove in silence to his flat. He had refused to turn his head to look in the other man's direction, opting instead to stare out the window. When they arrived, he imparted his gratitude with a sincere "thank you" and moved to get out of the car.

"You owe me one, shorty," his boss had said just as Harry closed the door. He had whipped around on the spot, but the Koenigsegg had already pulled away from the curb with a rumbling purr of powerful engines.

Harry went to bed last night with a scowl.

He abruptly shook his head to rid himself of the irritated gloom that had begun to fall over him and glanced at the alarm clock again—only to bolt out of bed with a loud cry. "_SHIT!_"

In less than ten minutes, he was rushing out of the door with a toast clenched between his teeth. Glancing at his watch as he ran out of building, he growled and swore. "Gah, damn it!" He swerved sharply into an empty alley and after casting a Disillusion spell on himself, he Apparated. Appearing moments later in another alleyway just a block away from Wayne Enterprise, Harry checked to see that all was clear before he cast the counter-spell and his figure shimmered back into view.

Without wasting another second, he broke into a dead sprint out onto the sidewalk and pelted towards the looming building constructed of glass and titanium further down the street.

When the elevator door closed behind him with a melodic _ping!_, Harry slumped against the mirrors making up the walls of the elevator with a ragged sigh of relief—he'd just made it in time with 3 minutes to spare. As he watched the numbers light up one after the other, he took a deep steadying breath and straightened. Harry tugged his suit into place, smoothing out the errant wrinkles, and ran a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to tame it into some semblance of order. The presidential level lit up. He squared his shoulders and straightened his back as the elevator doors opened, and he strolled into the foyer that greeted him.

Setting his briefcase down on Mr. Fox's—no, from now on, it was _his_ desk, Harry took off his jacket and hung it up in the small, unnoticeable closet hidden in a corner on the far side of the wall on the left. He glanced at the clock. Bruce should be arriving in several minutes. At the thought, an annoyed scowl appeared on his features as last night's events came into mind again. Harry shook his head, mentally slapping himself. No, he refused to let him get one over him. Harry was not going to break. He slid into his seat, took out the necessary papers from his briefcase, and started to work.

However, when the sound of the elevator reaching the presidential suite reached his ears not mere fifteen minutes later, a frown made its way across his face without his permission. Harry managed to wipe his expression clean into a pleasant mask just before the doors opened and Bruce stepped out.

Harry stood and greeted him politely, "Good morning, Mr. Wayne."

"Hm, it would be if I hadn't been woken up at an ungodly hour this morning to get a particular someone out of trouble," was Bruce's bland response as he unceremoniously dumped his briefcase and Armani jacket on Harry's desk—right on top of his keyboard and the 'shut down' button, consequently erasing all of the work that Harry had been doing since he came in.

A muscle jumped in Harry's cheek but he bit his lower lip and said nothing, somehow maintaining his polite smile.

Bruce arched an eyebrow. "Is something the matter?" he asked.

_You know exactly what you just did, you bastard_, Harry inwardly seethed at the sight of the smug smirk pulling at the taller man's lips. Outwardly, he shook his head. "No, everything's fine, thank you."

"Good." Without another word, Bruce moved towards his office, but before he entered his bureau, he paused by the door and turned around. "Ah yes, there's something I would like you to do."

"Yes?"

"I haven't had breakfast yet, and I'm craving for authentic French cuisine right now. You have one hour."

"Excuse me?"

"You can't do it?" Bruce's lips curled again into another smirk. "Because if you can't, then that would be an inability to fulfill the specific criterion of a secretary who is required to be able to carry out a direct order from me under all conditions. I'm certain my lawyers would be able to use that legal aspect to nullify your contract."

"Not necessary, Mr. Wayne," Harry gritted out between clenched teeth. "Your breakfast will be ready for you in an hour."

"See that it is," was Bruce's parting shot before he disappeared into his office.

_How the bloody hell am I going to get an authentic French breakfast ready and delivered here in only an hour? Are there even French restaurants open at this time?_ Harry thought numbly, standing stock still for several seconds. Then, the image of the tall man's smirking face flashed in his mind and he felt irritation like no other flare up within him again. This time, he did not attempt to smother it; in fact, he welcomed it and urged it into a burning inferno. Harry glared darkly at the closed doors leading into Bruce's bureau.

_Fuck it. Challenge accepted._


End file.
